


we never act this regular

by sarcasticfishes



Series: where your hands should be [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Shane Madej, Dirty Talk, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Requited Love, Unsafe Sex, there are a lot of wild tags here huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 16:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: “So when you gonna come collect?”Shane blinks, slowly, and has never before been so distracted by Ryan saying the word ‘come’ in such an ordinary context.“Collect?” he asks, feels a little dizzy.“Yourdues,” Ryan tilts his head, and there’s no way to describe it other than coy. “Why haven’t you come for what you’re owed?”





	we never act this regular

**Author's Note:**

> hello it's me again. this is a part 2 to [i wanna see you lookin' up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074367) and it would be helpful to read the first part first. but hey i am not the boss of you. this part is severely less chill, i was having Feelings.

So Shane has seen Ryan naked.

Not all at once, actually, but he’s seen Ryan shirtless and he’s seen Ryan pantsless and when you put those two images together... That’s a naked man, who Shane has seen with his own two eyeballs. That being said, Shane’s seen his fair amount of naked men, but not any that he’s had to spend upwards of a hundred hours a week with after the fact. It’s a little bit a lot, but he thinks he’s handling it okay.

The aftermath of the party is as such:

Shane and Ryan fall asleep in Shane’s back garden and only wake when Garrett — foraging for food — knocks over a pyramid of beer cans in Shane’s kitchen. There are only a few raised eyebrows when Shane lends Ryan a pair of sweatpants rather than watch him struggle back into his skinny jeans after breakfast. In his bedroom, he finds Devon, Sara, and Jen all asleep in his bed, which is fine, he wasn’t gonna use it anyway.

“Did you sleep?” someone asks, and Shane and Ryan reply “A bit,” in unison, which gets a laugh.

Shane gets in his shower when the guys refuse to let him help with the cleaning, and he jerks off as quietly as possible, thinking about how noisy Ryan had been right up until the moment he came, when he went silent and still and spilled into Shane’s mouth.

After that, it’s business as usual. They go back to work on Monday, Ryan sits next to Shane at their desks and kicks him under the table at lunch. They share a few beds filming together, and Shane kind of forgets that anything really happened in the first place.

Until a couple of weeks later when they’re at another birthday party, at a bar this time, and Ryan sort of corners him in the beer garden, puts his hands on Shane’s arms, and then his shoulders, squeezing and holding onto him, touching him liberally. Shane looks at Ryan’s lips and thinks about how he’s put his mouth on Ryan but hasn’t kissed him. Yet.

(So, the thing about him forgetting what happened — total lie.)

At the end of the night they sit on the curb and wait for separate Lyfts, and Ryan says;

“So when you gonna come collect?”

Shane blinks, slowly, and has never before been so distracted by Ryan saying the word ‘come’ in such an ordinary context.

“Collect?” he asks, feels a little dizzy.

“Your dues,” Ryan tilts his head, and there’s no way to describe it other than _coy_. “Why haven’t you come for what you’re owed?”

Shane pushes his glasses up, shrugs as casually as he can, but he’s too stiff, the movement too jerky.

“Please don’t feel like you owe me anything, Ryan. I liked— I liked it, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to pay me back.”

“That’s not—” Ryan sighs, and then doesn’t finish his sentence. Shane can feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. His Lyft arrives not thirty seconds later, and Ryan clambers to his feet, dusting himself off. They both go through their usual drunk-goodbye routine, clasping hands, and ‘text me when you get home safe?’, and maybe Shane grips Ryan’s hand a little firmer than usual, still caught up in all his feelings.

Ryan gets to the door of the car and hesitates with his fingers on the handle.

“I think about it a lot,” Ryan says. “I know I don’t _owe_ it to you, idiot. I want it.”

And then he leaves in his fucking Lyft, just like that, as if he can just  _drop_ that on Shane so casually.

Shane gets out his phone and types out _‘honestly, fuck you for that’_. Send. He’s in his own rideshare home when Ryan replies with the crying-laughing emoji, and the clown emoji. Shane’s not sure if Ryan’s kidding or calling him a fool.

Ryan texts him again twenty minutes later, two words, ‘Home safe’ as Shane is just arriving at his own front door. He gives his driver five stars because she'd been very sweet but also knew how to mind her own business when Shane climbed into her backseat more than a little flustered. Instead of replying, he hits the call button, the phone pressed to his ear as he unlocks his door and steps inside his house.

Ryan somehow manages to sound both sleepy and alert when he answers the phone.

“Hey, Big Guy,” he says, sounding so fond that it makes Shane's stomach twist and flutter.

Shane cuts right to the chase. “Hey. What did you mean you _think_ about it?”

Ryan huffs in the other end of the line, like it's too late for this shit. Maybe it is, but he’s the one started it.

“You know what I meant,” he says. Shane flicks on the overhead light in this kitchen to get a glass of water. He can see out into his back garden, see the same lounger where he'd sat and sucked Ryan off, barely moved since that morning weeks ago.

“You think about it.” Shane says, deadpan, and doesn't need to add in the obvious _‘when you make yourself come_.’ He's pretty sure they're on the same page here.

“It's good material,” Ryan says, like that's not devastating at all.

Shane downs his glass of water and leaves it in the sink. Then he shuts off the light and heads towards his bedroom, not having said a single word in response.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asks, casually. Shane puts the phone on speaker and drops it on his bed as he shrugs off his jacket.

“Getting ready for bed. Resisting the urge to come over there and murder you.”

Ryan's laugh is bright and sharp through the speaker of the phone. Shane leaves it there on the bed when he goes into his bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth and drink more water, and then he's climbing into his bed with Ryan still waiting patiently on the line.

“You in bed now?” Ryan asks, and there's something in his tone that distinctly strikes Shane as not-buddies.

“Yeah,” he sighs, returning the phone to his ear as he settles under the covers, bedside lamp still lit. “You?”

“Been in bed this whole time,” Ryan admits, shyly, like he knows the assault of imagery that comes to Shane. Ryan almost naked, hair soft and tousled, body sunken into the pillows and sheets.

“Hey Ryan?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me about it.”

Ryans chuckle is so very soft, coupled with the stilted kind of breath that tells Shane he's probably already touching himself. The thought sends a flash of heat through Shane, he’s already most of the way hard without much effort, just a few coy words from Ryan.

“Accept my facetime request, man,” Ryan says, and Shane almost drops his phone, because it’s the last thing he expected. He has his face half pushed into the pillow, lying on his side when he accepts Ryan’s call, suddenly so much shyer now that they’re looking at one another.

“So, I’m bad at phone sex,” Shane says, because he hadn’t prepared for this in any way, shape, or form. “And I wasn’t aware I was going to be visually present for this.”

Ryan laughs, and Shane’s just absolutely _taken_ by the sight of him on his back amongst the pillows, shirtless, hair in all kinds of directions. He’s lit by the phone’s backlight, and kind of squinting at the screen, which Shane finds unbearably sweet.

“It’s okay,” Ryan assures him. “I’ll just talk.”

Shane hums happily, loves the sound of Ryan’s voice like this, low and rumbling a little with tiredness, almost a rasp.

“I don’t always _intend_ to think about you, y’know?” Ryan says, then sighs a little bit, “Not the kind of guy who thinks about the same thing every time he jerks off.” Shane can’t really see much more than Ryan’s face from the way he’s holding the phone, but he just knows Ryan has a palm on his cock, can picture how lovely it looks in his hand, and the slow and steady strokes he’s giving it judging by his easy, even breaths.

Shane shifts a little so he can slide his own hand down into his sweatpants, and still angle the phone so that he can see Ryan’s face.

“But then I’ll hit my stride, y’know,” Ryan says, and huffs out a laugh which Shane echoes, “And I’ll just remember— the way your mouth felt and the way you looked at me. Fuck, man. That’s all part of what makes you so good at it, right? How you like it? Because you’re— really fucking good at it, god, Shane.”

There’s a little hitch in Ryan’s voice, a hiccup in his breath, and Shane knows he’s _hitting that stride_ , so to speak. On the screen, Ryan’s let his phone slip a little, and Shane can see more of his chest and collarbones, the line of his chin and jaw. Ryan licks his lips and bites down, and it’s fucking obscene.

“Keep talking,” Shane says, and Ryan makes this tiny surprised noise like he’d forgotten for a moment what he was doing.

“Yeah, fuck, sorry,” he laughs, and then hums on a small moan, “Mmm. I keep thinking about how mad I am that I didn’t get you back that morning, should have just— I wouldn’t have been any good, but I could have sucked you. Tried. Asked you to fuck my mouth.”

Shane somehow doubts that there’s anything involving his mouth that Ryan is bad at. “It’s ok. I didn’t need it.”

“Yeah, but you need it now, don’t you?” Ryan says, voice low and gravelly like so many mornings they’ve woken up together on dusty floors and too little sleep. Shane’s never going to be able to hear it again without getting hard. He squeezes his fist around his dick mid-stroke and bites back a whine at the thought of Ryan wanting to be there, wanting to be the one getting him off like this.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I really— _fuck_ , Ryan.”

Shane is ridiculously close for how little time he’s been actively touching himself, and he’s not exactly loath to admit that Ryan’s the reason why.

“Tell me what you’d want me to do. If I was there.”

Of course, Ryan’s one of _those_ guys.

“I’m not good at this,” Shane answers, a little breathy. He needs the kind of courage that comes with touching another person’s skin in order to really let loose, and Ryan is somewhat out of reach. He turns onto his back and kicks down the covers, suddenly too warm, and shoves his sweatpants down until he can kick those off too.

“You don’t have to say it out loud,” Ryan replies, somehow sounding sweet and filthy at the same time. “You can just think about it, and I’ll be here looking at you.”

“That’s no fun for you.”

“Looking at you is plenty of fun.”

Shane groans and, without really thinking about it, says, “I don’t want you to look at me, I want you to _fuck_ me, Ryan.”

And then Ryan lets out a surprised yelp and moves his phone so Shane can see him coming all over himself, so. That’s something to think about.

Once Shane’s brain processes that — the fact that presenting Ryan with the idea of  _fucking him_ had made him come — he’s hurtling towards his own climax, toes curling against the bedsheets.

“Holy fuck, Shane,” Ryan says drowsily, and Shane watches him drag a fingertip through the come on his belly, abs twitching a little with the last vestiges of orgasm. He lifts the phone back up to his face, large eyes blinking at the backlight, lower-lip more swollen than usual like he’d bitten down just a hair's breadth from breaking the skin. He has that same soft-sleepy look in his eyes as he did in Shane’s garden. “You look— are you close?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” Shane replies, shakily, because he’s not really capable of much more. “Gonna—”

“Lemme see,” Ryan says, teeth on his bottom lip again. “Shane, lemme see you.”

Shane does his best to angle the camera like Ryan had, low enough to get an up-body shot. He can see himself in the tiny window at the bottom of the screen, doesn’t really think he looks like much; laying like this, his belly is flatter and his ribs protrude just a touch, but his dick is the main focus of the shot.

“Holy shit, Shane,” Ryan croaks, and Shane is right there on the edge. “I am completely losing my mind over your dick right now. Look at you. Unreal.”

Shane chokes out a laugh, comes as Ryan is saying “You are so fucking hot, Christ, I can’t believe—”

Shane tips his head back, sighing softly as he comes down, his heart beating furiously in his chest. He can still hear Ryan talking, but muffled like he’s in the next room, and wow does Shane wish he was just in the next room.

“Shane? Shane.”

“I’m here,” Shane sighs, and lifts his phone back up, blinking slowly. It’s very late, and he’s very tired, and Ryan’s looking at him so sweetly yet still the same as ever. “I’m. Hey.”

Ryan’s tucked in on his side, face in the pillow and covers pulled up to his shoulders. “You good?”

“I’m good,” Shane sighs, and rolls back onto his side, mirroring Ryan. “One down, one to go.”

“Mm, not sure this really counts as me making you come,” Ryan says, and if Shane didn’t know better, he’d say Ryan’s making excuses.

“No no, that— that was definitely you,” Shane says, and watches as Ryan’s cheeks visibly pinken in the pale light of his screen. “You did that. All those things you said, fuck. That was good Ry. Really good. You’re good with your mouth too.”

Ryan snorts, almost looking shy about it. He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly, and Shane swears he could feel it on his collarbone.

“Gotta sleep now.”

“Mmm,” Shane agrees. “Sounds good, babe.”

“Alright,” Ryan’s voice sounds— subdued now. “Sleep tight.”

“Ditto,” Shane says, and Ryan’s little smile twinkles at him before they both cut the call. Shane sets his phone aside and grabs a tissue from his nightstand to clean the come off his hand. He’ll shower properly in the morning, he doesn’t have the energy for it right now.

.

The weekend passes, and then Shane’s walking into the office on Monday morning thinking everything is normal. He’s still devoting 97% of his time to thinking about Ryan, Ryan’s face, Ryan coming, Ryan’s face when he’s coming, all that jazz — but he’d handled it well after the birthday and nothing had changed between them. They’d been closer, if anything.

Shane gets to their desk space and sees Ryan settling in for the morning. It’s unusual for Ryan to be there before Shane, usually Shane arrives at 8:30, gets coffee from downstairs, and leaves a cup on Ryan’s desk. It’s always the perfect temperature when Ryan comes in at 9am.

“You’re here early,” Shane says, brightly. Ryan’s cheeks are suddenly pinker when he looks up at Shane, and then his surprise melts into nonchalance as he sinks into his chair, and shrugs a shoulder.

“I was looking forward to working today,” Ryan says, and Shane notices the coffee cup on his desk — it’s not from the machine downstairs or anywhere at BuzzFeed at all, it’s from a Starbucks down the street, Shane’s name scribbled haphazardly on the side. Actually, it says _Shayne_ , but the sentiment is there. Ryan has brought him coffee.

“Thanks man,” Shane says, and then revels in the little smile Ryan sends his way. Something about it pulls at his chest, and suddenly Shane’s thinking—

_Aw fuck, this is different._

The days that follow feel very familiar in some ways and very new in others. They eat lunch together, often with Andrew or Sara or Branden or Mark. They argue about stuff in that petty way they do where it doesn’t mean anything. They text each other stupid memes in the middle of the night and then complain about being tired the next morning. That’s normal stuff.

On a Thursday night they see a movie together, and during the previews Ryan says, “You wanna kiss?”

Shane, panicking, says “WHAT,” too loudly when there’s a brief silence during a trailer. Three people turn to stare at them, and Ryan pushes a handful of Hershey Kisses into Shane’s palms, shaking with laughter. All of that is normal, except for how Shane really  _does_ want a kiss, and not the chocolate kind.

He thinks about inviting Ryan home with him afterwards, but he’s in no way, shape, or form prepared for any kind of penetrative sex, and doesn’t want to blow his shot (for want of a less-painfully-accurate phrase). They sit in Ryan’s car outside Shane’s apartment for almost an hour, just talking, before Shane climbs out, all the while resisting the urge to lean over and peck Ryan on the cheek or chin or lips before he leaves. He’s not ready for it to be over.

There's a wrap party at work where they kind-of-soberly hold hands on a balcony for a solid ten minutes before Jen finds them, yelling something about taking pictures. Shane thinks about the way Ryan's thumb had stroked over his knuckles like it was no big deal, and then definitely jerks off about it when he finally gets to bed that night, feeling only slightly guilty for it. He could have asked Ryan home with him, but he didn't. He's not ready for this to be over.

There are what feels like a million chances — Ryan lingering in the office well after he should have gone home, two unsolved shoots and one shared hotel room, an evening drink at the end of a long week leading up to the season premiere. And Shane just doesn’t shoot his shot. He wonders for a while if maybe he’s just getting off on the anticipation, or if maybe they’re building up to something spectacular by waiting out the tension. The truth of it is, he’s enjoying this energy between them far too much; it feels the way they’ve always felt together, but dialed all the way up to eleven. He’s not ready for it to be over.

It’s maybe five weeks after the phone sex occurrence and Ryan sits up straight at his desk and says “ _we’re going to lunch_ ,” with a kind of determination Shane only sees in him when burritos are involved. Ryan has his car keys in his hand, which means they’re leaving work, so Shane switches off his monitor and pats down his pockets before following Ryan out into the parking lot.

Ryan drives for about five minutes before Shane realizes he doesn’t know where they’re going. He’s not worried, he just figures that Ryan will pick somewhere and park, it’s the thing they usually do. The sun is shining, the radio is on, and Ryan has his window open. Shane knows that if he looks at Ryan later on, his left arm will be darker than the right by barely a shade.

They park on a street that looks like every other street in LA, and then Ryan shuts off the engine and doesn’t move. Shane has his fingers on the door handle, hesitating; This does not feel like any other lunch they’ve ever shared. There’s no food for one, and second of all — Shane’s never felt this nervous around Ryan at any point in their entire friendship.

“Ryan?”

“I have a problem with— you,” Ryan says, and Shane’s stomach drops right out. He takes his hand off the handle and sits back into his seat, letting his shoulders slowly curl inwards. Bracing for impact.

“Shit,” Ryan says. “That sounded— It’s me. I have the problem, but it involves you.”

“Okay,” Shane says, and looks at Ryan in the driver’s seat, the way he always looks at Ryan in the driver’s seat. This might ruin car journeys for them. For Shane, at least.

“It feels like you don’t want—” Ryan cuts himself off with a loud sigh, and then presses the button for his window to roll up. With the ambient sounds of the street cut off, the air in the space only theirs, the car feels smaller. Shane resists the urge to pull his legs up to his chest.

“Was I too forward?” Ryan asks, suddenly, turning on his hip towards Shane. The steering wheel gets in the way of his thighs, and Shane watches the denim pull tight over Ryan’s knees, his broad thighs. His seatbelt is still taut over his waist and chest

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shane admits, quietly. He still feels like this is his fault, but now he’s less sure of why he feels that way.

“Not forward  _enough_ ,” Ryan answers his own question, taking a minute to stare out the windscreen, arms draped over the wheel. Shane’s gotten used to letting Ryan ride out his own brainwave, letting him think all the way through his own thought, so he sits and waits and tries not to feel like he’s about to throw up. He hasn’t even eaten anything yet, which is arguably the worst type of throwing up.

“Okay,” Ryan says. “Here goes.”

“Ryan,” Shane says, just because.

“I want to date you.”

Shane, who is very used to Ryan’s earnest expressions and plain speaking, is dumbfounded. There’s no way to misinterpret this, surely?

“You—”

“I thought that was the direction we were headed in, when we. At your party. I thought that was where this was going, but that was in May. It’s— It’s July now, and we’re not making progress.”

Ryan stops for a moment, taking a careful breath, and Shane knows he’s not finished speaking yet. Which is fine, because Shane is absolutely still processing information. Shane just nods, and waits.

“So uh. I guess either I suck at making moves or you’re not interested, because you were never picking up what I was putting down—”

“You were making _moves_?” Shane splutters, kind of involuntarily. “No.”

“I—” Ryan chokes. “I certainly _was_.”

“ _What moves_ ,” Shane splays his hands out in front of him beseechingly, almost smacking Ryan in the chest. “Ryan, what—”

“The— the  _flirting_ — the movie dates? And the hand holding, and the touching you? Buying you— buying you coffee and chocolate and all the shit you like? _Shane_.”

“Ryan,” Shane laughs. “You always do that.”

“The game we played at your party. The stuff I said about you. I don’t always to _that_.”

“That was  _flirting_? With me?”

“I’m  _always_ flirting, Shane. _Always_ , with you.”

It’s the first time in a long time that Shane can’t exactly read Ryan’s expression. He’s smiling, but his eyes are desperate and wide.

“Oh my god,” Shane says. “You were flirting this whole goddamn time.”

“Newsflash, asshole,” Ryan says, weakly, and Shane actually slides down in his seat, knees coming up to bump the dashboard. “I was flirting with you this whole goddamn time.”

“I’m a whole ass idiot.”

“Well, you can’t take all the credit,” Ryan says, rolling down the window again and tugging at the collar of his shirt. His cheeks are very red, and the sun is pouring in on his side. There’s a bead of sweat at his temple, but Shane doesn’t think it’s just the sun making Ryan sweat. He feels the same heat, right in the center of his chest, burning him up.

“I want to date you too,” Shane says, and Ryan wheels around so quickly he  _must_ get whiplash. “I am terribly attracted to you. I thought we could keep things cool, because it was fine when we first hooked up. I was looking at it like something I wanted but couldn’t have, and so I didn’t let it touch me or change how I acted around you. That was probably a mistake. We would have said all this shit a lot sooner if I hadn’t done that.”

“That’s. Yeah,” Ryan says, intelligently. “We’re on the same page.”

“Word,” Shane says, and Ryan stifles a giggle into his knuckles.

“Okay,” Ryan’s smiling at Shane again, and somehow his grin is even brighter than the sun over his shoulder. Shane is so willing to be blinded by it. “So, would you like to go on a date with me, maybe?”

“I want nothing more,” Shane replies, if only to see the apples of Ryan’s cheeks turn even darker, flushed with pleasure. Ryan reaches down and unclips his belt buckle, rolls up his window again.

“Good. There’s a place down here I want to take you to. You’re gonna love the burrito bowl.”

Shane grins right back at him, a weight lifting off his chest.

This feels the same as it always has. It feels right.

.

Another week, another party. Ryan’s standing by the bar, buying Kelsey a round of birthday shots, and Shane cannot keep his eyes off of the small sweat-darkened patch of shirt at the small of his back. He’s allowed to look now. He’s allowed to think about pushing his hand up under Ryan’s shirt and pressing his palm against the tacky skin there.

Ryan and Kelsey bump their glasses in cheers, and down their shots together in spectacular fashion. They make it look easy, swallowing back with ease, and then wincing, laughing at each other’s expressions. Ryan kisses Kelsey’s cheek before walking back towards the table Shane and a few others are occupying. He slides into the empty space next to Shane, leaning into the arm draped across the back of his seat.

“You have cream on your mouth,” Evan says, flatly.

“Blowjob,” Ryan replies, easy as anything, and wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Shane would like to leave with him, immediately. “The shot I mean,” he amends, before licking his thumb, and reaching for the beer he’d left on the table before his little adventure. Shane thinks it’s an absolute sin that he hasn’t been kissing Ryan as much as he wants to. They’re not exactly  _out_ to their friends yet, but they’re not exactly hiding it from them either. Shane’s pretty sure someone has to have noticed how Ryan keeps touching him, how close they’re sitting, how they can’t stop looking at one another.

Shane leans in to put his mouth close to Ryan’s ear, and asks, “Will you come home with me tonight?”

Ryan grins at him, eyes sparkling. “Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Shane grins back, and Ryan’s smile gets even bigger, somehow. He switches to drinking water after that, and Shane’s a little touched. Ryan loves to drink — if he wants to be clear-headed for this, it must mean something.

They stay for as long as they can bear, for a socially acceptable amount of time, but Shane can’t help feeling overwhelming  _relief_ when Ryan takes out his phone to order a ride.

“It’s getting late,” Ryan says to their friends. It’s barely midnight.

“You heading home?” Shane’s gonna play this casual, smooth as fuck. “I might hit the road too.”

“We can share a ride,” Ryan says, like they hadn't already decided to go to Shane's. They're terribly obvious. Kelsey, who had harmlessly been giving Ryan shit about drinking water, looks like the light of heaven has shone down on her and shown her truth and paradise — or something. She just grins that big, wide grin of hers at them and doesn’t say a thing.

They manage to slip away together without much fuss when their ride arrives, greeting their driver, Ryan holding the door for Shane as they slide into the back seat together. Shane is hyper-aware of the weight of Ryan’s hand on his thigh, fingertips pressed against the inseam of his jeans. The journey passes quicker than he had thought it would.

Shane loves his house, but he loves it even more with Ryan in it. Ryan casually drapes his jacket over the back of Shane’s couch, and then looks back at him with a little smile.

“Are we— are we doing something or are we going straight to bed?”

Shane leaves his shoes on the rack, and hangs up his jacket because he’s not a heathen who leaves his clothes around just anywhere (although, Ryan’s clothes scattered around his home does the exact opposite of bother him).

“We can put on a movie if you think you can wait,” Shane replies, and doesn’t mention that he’s absolutely desperate for Ryan’s hands on him, finally.

“I can’t wait,” Ryan says, firmly. “I’ve been waiting for like— I’ve _been_ waiting.”

“Okay,” Shane says, very softly, as he crosses the room to kiss Ryan. Ryan’s hands come up to hold onto his shoulders and his arms, and then one palm spreads across the nape of Shane’s neck, and Shane is melting into him. He pushes his hands under Ryan’s tee, finally getting his hands on all of that skin, sticky with the heat of LA in July, smooth yet tacky under his fingertips. Ryan sighs into his mouth and pushes up on his toes to get closer, dragging Shane down into a deeper kiss. They’re extremely good at this, together.

Ryan gives him a gentle nudge in the direction of the bedroom, and Shane has to begrudgingly pull away, instead taking Ryan’s hand in his and leading him in. He doesn’t _need_ to show Ryan the way, but it’s nice.

It’s nice to sit on the end of his bed, and have Ryan lean down to kiss him, Shane’s arms wrapped around his waist. It’s nice to undress one another, urgently, but not exactly hurried. It’s nice to mouth at Ryan’s cock over his boxer-briefs, and hear Ryan’s trembling gasp at the sensation. Shane’s been thinking about sucking Ryan again, but he knows if he does it now, it’s all he’s going to want to do.

“Shane— Shane, do you still want—” Ryan’s hands come up to cup his jaw, holding Shane there, nose against Ryan’s cock. Shane firmly licks over the cotton, from the small wet spot at the tip, to the base. Ryan swears softly, fingers pressing down on the tender skin behind Shane’s ears.

“Yeah,” Shane sighs, “I’m just being a bit of a dick right now.”

“That’s fine. Apparently, I’m super into dick,” Ryan replies, but there’s a slight tremble in his voice that makes Shane grin up at him.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” Ryan lies. Shane’s not going to call him out on it, and instead lies back on the bed, shifting a little to push his underwear down his thighs. Ryan helps pull them all the way off, and then just looks at him, spread out on his bed in what must be some very underwhelming glory.

“Gonna stand there and look at me all night?” Shane asks, disguises his self-consciousness by folding his arms behind his head. Ryan smiles at him.

“I like looking at you,” he counters, and then asks, “Where’s the stuff?”

“The nightstand,” Shane says, pointing over his head towards the top of the bed. Ryan goes in search, and Shane lets a hand fall back down to circle around his cock, just to squeeze. He needs Ryan touching him, anything, _soon_ , or he might just collapse in on himself, an implosion of want.

Shane had left his nightstand mostly empty before he went out for the night, purely for this purpose. There’s mainly just lube, condoms, some tissue in there.

“Condom?” Ryan asks, and Shane sits up a little just to get a look at him. “We should… probably.”

“I mean,” Shane gulps. “I did— I did swallow, before.”

Ryan has to close his eyes and steady himself with a hand against the wall; he smiles a little, as though he can’t believe what’s happening, and Shane stifles a laugh.

“You sure did, buddy,” Ryan says, strained, and Shane loves having this effect on him.

“In future, we should,” Shane says, clearing his throat a little. “But this time— I wanna. I wanna feel you. So. I’m good if you are, I promise.”

Ryan tucks the condoms back into the drawer and nudges it closed with his hip, holding a small bottle of lube in his hand. He bats Shane’s hand away from his cock, a little playful when he says “let me.”

Ryan gets his fingers wet and kneels between Shane's thighs, pushing one leg back to open him up a little more.

“Are we good?” he asks, which Shane knows means ‘are _you_ good?’

Shane spreads his legs a little more, tipping his head back in deference. “Yeah, please,” he says, and Ryan bites down on his lip as he sinks a finger into Shane, gently twisting as he presses in. It’s a familiar feeling, something he’s felt before (by his own hand or another), but this time it’s Ryan — it’s new and old at the same time. Shane sighs softly at the sensation, pushing into the touch. It doesn’t take long for Ryan to slide in a second finger, which has Shane pulling his legs back further, trying to get him deeper. Fingers feel _good_ , but he’s dying to have Ryan fuck him, to have his cock.

Three fingers in, Shane can feel the burn, loves it. Ryan’s very careful and methodical in a way that tells Shane he’s either done this before, or done some _heavy_ — maybe hands-on — research. He’s thinking it’s the latter.

“You really like this, huh?” Ryan asks, his voice slightly huskier than usual, more gravel and weight in it. Instinctively, Shane feels his gut clench. His dick twitches.

“Yeah,” he groans, hasn’t stopped fucking himself on Ryan’s hand, “S’good. Feels good. You ever?”

“Not with anyone else,” Ryan says, thickly, “But we could. If you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Shane says. “Can you— I’m ready, here. Please.”

Ryan seems to come back to himself at that, stroking a soothing hand over Shane’s thighs as he pulls his fingers free, wipes them on the leg of his briefs when he pulls them off. Shane’s already intimately familiar with Ryan’s cock — the weight, the girth, the taste — but that doesn’t dampen the little current of excitement that zips through him as it bobs up towards Ryan’s stomach. Shane feels his mouth water, the same way it had the first time he’d seen Ryan hard, and he has to audibly swallow, and tear his gaze away.

Ryan’s looking at him fondly, a smile tugging the left side of his mouth just a touch higher than the right. He curls his palms around Shane’s thighs and pulls him bodily towards the end of the bed, and Shane lets his legs fall easily around Ryan’s waist.

“You okay on your back like that?” Ryan asks, as he’s lubing up.

“Yeah, it’s nice to see your face,” Shane admits, tilting his head again, baring another side of his neck. Wordlessly, Ryan leans over and grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, helping Shane push it under the small of his back. It’s a small but sweet gesture, and Shane reaches up to pull Ryan down for a kiss just because he can. They are _so_ good at this.

“C’mon, put it in already,” Shane gripes, and Ryan huffs out a little laugh against his mouth, guides the tip of his cock down to Shane’s opening, starts to push in.

The first slide home has them both gasping. Shane’s eyes are already closed, he’s sure they’d be rolling back otherwise. Ryan’s cock stretches him so good, fills him so well, he digs his heels in at the small of Ryan’s to pull him in deeper and faster.

“God _damn_ , Shane,” Ryan breathes, and Shane leans up to suck on his lower lip.

“Different, huh?” Shane laughs, but it comes out more breathy than anything when Ryan tentatively pulls out, just until the head catches at Shane’s rim, and thrusts back in.

“Fuck,” Ryan answers. “Fucking good.”

Shane lifts his hips to meet each of Ryan’s thrusts, not particularly deep or fast yet, but Shane can tell he’s working up to it. He doesn’t mind — it feels good, having not been properly fucked in so long, having it be _Ryan_ fucking him, making him feel this way. Shane’s not even touching his own dick, not yet at least, just happy to feel this for now.

“God, you take it so fucking well,” Ryan whispers, and Shane tries not to show just how into that he is, the praise, the gentle way Ryan’s looking at him and rocking into him.

“Thanks,” he laughs. “Been a while.”

“I thought about this, a lot,” Ryan confesses, a little breathless, “After you said it, I couldn’t stop.”

“Me neither,” Shane groans, pulls his knee up again, draws Ryan in closer with his legs, and Ryan sinks down over him, kisses his neck and shoulders and collarbones, sucking little red marks into his chest. It’s been a while since Shane’s had a hickey, and it’s a strange thrill to feel Ryan’s mouth bruising him over and over again, so lovingly.

Ryan gets one knee up on the end of the bed, the angle changing, and it’s almost perfect for Shane, he barely has to work to get Ryan to fuck him just right, hit that spot. That spark of electricity again pushes a moan past Shane’s lips, and Ryan grins at him, kisses him sloppily.

“That’s it, huh?” he murmurs, and slides a hand into Shane’s hair, curling his palm into a fist slowly, pulling. He hasn’t forgotten just how much Shane likes that.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shane says, on the cusp of another moan, his brows drawn, thighs tense. He drops a hand down to curl his thumb and forefinger around his cock, and Ryan’s thrusts are enough to push the head through the circle of his fingers each time. It feels fucking amazing.

Shane’s not sure how long it goes on for. Ryan works up a nice rhythm, and he’s nailing Shane’s prostate with almost every thrust, punching soft gasps and moans out of Shane’s chest as he fucks him. All it takes is Ryan tugging a little too sharply on his hair, and Shane comes, feeling it pulsing deep inside him and prickling on the surface, fizzling over his skin. He shoots over his own hand, dripping down onto his stomach as Ryan watches, entranced. Even in the midst of his own orgasm, Shane can’t help but think about how fucking gorgeous Ryan is, flushed and dripping sweat as he is.

Ryan is noisy when starts to come, first spitting out a _“Fuck, Shane,”_ as he hunches over, followed by a long, low groan, and then silence. Shane feels the swell, pressure, then a burst of wet heat when Ryan comes inside of him. Shane’s already so wet with lube and sweat, somehow gets impossibly slicker as Ryan rides out his orgasm. Shane’s made men come before, but he hasn’t felt _this_ ever.

“Fuckin— Shit, Ryan,” Shane croaks, when Ryan stops, still inside and barely daring to move. Maybe they’re both shaking, maybe there’s an earthquake; Shane doesn’t know a goddamn thing that’s happening outside of their bed.

“God,” Ryan whispers, directly into Shane’s chest where his face is buried. “Shane.”

Shane rubs his palm down over Ryan’s back.

“S’fucking perfect, Ryan,” he says, throat tired and dry from gasping, panting. “Made a complete mess of me.”

Ryan pushes up and gently pulls out, flopping over onto his side next to Shane, untangling his fingers from Shane’s hair. Their legs dangle off the end, and Ryan throws a thigh over Shane’s hip, dropping his forehead against his shoulder.

“Why’d we wait this long?” Ryan asks, just as hoarse as Shane.

“Idiots,” Shane murmurs. “Complete fools.”

Ryan hums noncommittally, a sure sign that he’s already falling asleep — naked, on top of the covers. Charming.

“Do _not_ fall asleep while I am still covered in come and lube, you caveman. Bad bedroom etiquette.”

Ryan sits up, and Shane thinks that this is the definition of _fucked out_ if he’s ever seen it. Pink cheeks, messy hair, bleary-eyes.

“I’m here. I was resting my eyes,” he lies, through his teeth. Shane presses his lips tight together, holding back his smile as he lifts his hand, just wanting to touch Ryan’s skin. He skims his knuckles along Ryan’s arm, over his shoulder, finally allows himself to grin as Ryan looks down at him. Shane’s not blind, he’s seen Ryan in love before. He knows this look. He _feels_ this look.

“It’s still early,” Ryan says, as he pushes himself off the bed, making towards Shane’s bathroom. “You wanna clean up and put on that movie?”

“I think you’re supposed to Netflix _before_ the sex,” Shane chuckles. “Isn’t that the phrase?”

Ryan laughs back at him, before making a truly excellent point in his favor.

“Since when have we done things in the right order?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :) there probably won't be more to this series, this is where it ties up. i have a hockey au to write. comments are nice and encouraging. peace <3


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